Not Bloodless
by TeaNSympathy
Summary: Roger and Jill in the aftermath of the swatting


After the police have gone, after the phone calls to the building super and the FBI and the all-night door repair place, after the apartment is finally theirs again, they fall into each other's arms like shipwreck survivors. He buries his face in her silky hair and inhales the familiar scent of her shampoo. She is shaking still, uncontrollable shudders rippling through her body. He rubs his palm soothingly against her back but it doesn't help.

"What in the hell was that about?" she asks, looking up at him.

The realization hits him with a gut punch.

"The press conference. Some sick fuck must have seen the press conference. That's what they do. Any time anybody tries to do anything to stop it. Damn. I should have anticipated. You shouldn't have been here."

"Don't be ridiculous! You couldn't have known. Anyway, I'm glad I was. I wouldn't have wanted you to go through that with no witnesses."

The words provide no comfort. He should have known. He failed her. He didn't keep her safe.

Roger has never really understood the kind of fury that leads people to commit the kind of unspeakable crimes that he spends his days prosecuting. He understands the desire for vengeance, but not the blind rage that causes people to take the law into their own hands and ruin their own lives in the process. When he was in high school Chad Monson, the most notorious bully in the tenth grade, had accosted his little brother on the way home, stealing his prized Star Wars lunch, pushing him so hard he fell and bruised his knees, and sending him home in tears. Roger's friends had all told him he needed to beat Chad up. But Roger demurred. And it wasn't because Chad had five inches and thirty pounds on him. At least, it wasn't just because of that. Roger wasn't afraid of a fight; he just knew there were better ways of effecting justice. For the remainder of the school year, he became Chad's undetected shadow. Every time Chad broke the rules, somehow a teacher would appear at the perfect moment to catch him in the act. He spent more time in detention than he did anywhere else and eventually, after being discovered pulling the fire alarm during lunchtime, was expelled. When he went to clean out his locker, he found one item, a Star Wars lunchbox, mysteriously missing thanks to Roger's successful bribery of one of Chad's friends for the locker combination.

Roger has always believed in the law, in systems, in rules, in allowing the process to unfold in an orderly fashion. But now Jill, his Jill, the strongest woman he knows is shaking in his arms and his home no longer feels safe and all he can think about is that someone has to pay. And not just in fines or prison time (although he knows what hell that can be. He wants someone to pay immediately, in pain and tears and panic and blood.

"You're bleeding" she says gently. He looks down and realizes she is right. It isn't much, just a scrape on his forearm from being thrown to the floor, but it is indeed bleeding. He hadn't even noticed the pain until now.

"Wait here; I'll get the antibiotic."

He still has moments of surprised joy at the reality of them and this is one of those, wonder briefly coursing through him at the fact that not only is she here, in his apartment, in her pajamas, but that she has been here enough that she knows where the first aid kit is without having to ask.

When she returns, he sits on the edge of the bed and lets her clean the wound with a washcloth, apply antibiotic, and carefully bandage it. He could easily have done it himself, but he knows it's helping her to take action. He also knows that they'll both have wounds from this night that won't be nearly as easy to medicate.

When she is done, he reaches over to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Thank you."

She leans in to kiss him. He notes that she is no longer shaking but takes in the pallor of her face and the strain around her eyes.

"OK," she says decisively. "Here's what's going to happen. We both need to be at work in about six hours and we have to be somewhat functional. I'm pouring us both a whiskey and then we're going to take a hot shower and try to get a few hours of sleep."

The whiskey burns his throat but does nothing for his stress level. They stand under the hot water until it runs cold and it loosens his tense muscles a bit but does nothing for his churning mind.

They climb into bed and to his amazement, she falls asleep in minutes. He doesn't. He curls into her warm body, listening to the soft in and out of her breathing and feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and thinks about how easily a hasty bullet could have ended both. And he vows into the darkness that somebody is going to pay.


End file.
